


==> Adopt a Kitten?

by Aurorai



Category: Homestuck
Genre: But later in the story, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Humor, Jealousy, Kittens, M/M, Misunderstandings, Romance, Smut, YES I SAID SMUT
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-13
Updated: 2013-07-20
Packaged: 2017-12-08 08:13:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/759141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aurorai/pseuds/Aurorai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So this is a fic for the lovely <a href="http://amarantto.tumblr.com">amarantto</a> and her silly <a href="http://amarantto.tumblr.com/post/46984560350/this-is-my-davekat-headcanon-karkat-saw-a-cute">DaveKat headcanon</a> that I'm developing into a sort of citystuck AU. Enjoy?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It's Cold and We Have to What?

**Author's Note:**

> More characters will be added as they appear later in the story, and the rating WILL go up.

“Dude, we’re going out.” You step into the lounge of your apartment.

Karkat is lying on the couch with an elbow propped up and a fist to his cheek. The fingers of his other hand ghost over the page of a book that rests on the cushion adjacent his chest.

“What for,” he states.

You watch him. Every little action of his always infatuates you. The way his voice reverberates through your bones, the way that- regardless of his raucous articulation- his demeanor grasps an ‘ _I don’t give a fuck_ ’ air (which might have rubbed off from you), the way his unruly hair drops across his features, his chest with every relaxed breath, his exposed clavicle through the top of his shirt, and the way his gorgeous eyes flicker over the lines of his reading material.

His eyes were a dust storm; a pale hue between red and gray. In due time his natural pigments will conquer the drab normality of the latter, his irises tearing off their protective coat to wear the blood in his veins.

It agitates you that he loathes red so much when the color becomes him unbearably more than you tailor it.

“I said what for,” he repeats. The moment he took his concentration from the book to replace it with your face escaped you.

“The pantry is as barren as the fucking Sahara. We need to pick up food.”

He groans. You can understand why: January. Although it rarely snows, the weather is cold and dry and downright awful. No one wants to leave their homes in this shitty weather. Your fingers might freeze and crack apart. Or better yet, maybe icicles will form on your eyelashes and every time you blink they will stab into your eyes- by the end of the day you will be as blind as Terezi if she had hyposmia and a burnt tongue.

“We’ll just go to market downtown. Even I don’t want to walk anywhere in this shit. My tolerance for temperature developed in Houston’s sweltering heat.”

“Fine, whatever. I’m sure you’re too incompetent of a moronic fuckwit to manage to ‘swagger’ your ass downtown and pick up logical types of human food in lieu of the sodium-caked, Trans fat-drenched, sugar-loaded, calorie overdoses of filth you call snacks.”

“And that is why you’re coming with.”

You toss on a leather jacket (because, fuck yeah, leather is a wind-protectant, **and** you wear it well), while Karkat garmented his coat.

As he nestles his feet into his boots, you notice- even with his coat buttoned- his collarbone is still exposed.

You walk back into the apartment and into the room you shared.

“Where the fuck are you going?”

You rustled through your closet, littered with shitty swords, Karkat’s shitty romcoms, a few jars of preserved dead things, books of his, old electronics yours, clothes of yours, clothes of his, clothes you shared, so much _shit‒ how is this even a closet‒_ ah, there it is.

Returning to him, who still stands by the entrance, you drape the red plaid scarf you scrounged up around his neck.

He knits his brow. “You know my disposition towards this color.”

“Don’t care.”

He huffs in annoyance, but fiddles with the scarf until he is comfortable.

‒

The wind bites; the chill too weak for shivers, while bitter enough to flush your skin. The raw air leaves a harsh taste in your mouth, and the sky cannot decide if it wants to smother you into depression or leave you hanging with a sense of pessimism.

Out of the corner of your eye Karkat struggles against the wind. He squints and raises a hand to his face, his permanent scowl edging deeper into his expression.

You restrain from smirking, shove your hands in your pockets, and focus back on the path in front of you.

It was a generous walk from your apartment to the market, though effortless in comparison to the journey you trek to your routine grocery store. The one you both resort to when supplies get as low as they are.

Karkat fusses over where the two of you shop, and the one place he respects happens to be on the other ass-end of the city. He enlists the help of his and your friends when food shortages occur because of the sheer quantity he buys when it does. He turns a simple task into a grandiose cultist gathering to pick up food.

He calls up John and Kanaya and has you call Rose (if she was not _with_ Kanaya), and if the number hands remained insufficient, he forces any of the trolls or humans available to help.

You glance over again and realize something caught his interest. Not just a minor slip up in attention; he is arrested by whatever gained his appreciation. He has even halted his steps.

You shift your gaze to follow his line of sight and are met with the window of a pet shop. A tiny fluff ball of black with bright blue eyes stares up at the two of you.

Karkat’s mouth slips open in a silent gasp as he eyes the little creature, and he stretches his fingers by his side.

The kitten places its paws on the window ledge and flicks its tail as it eyes Karkat back. It strikes you as oddly familiar; an emotion between nostalgia and déjà vu settling in your gut. _Have you seen this cat somewhere?_

The thought is gone when you tag the flush on Karkat’s face as too deep for the temperature to be the lone culprit. This “moment” he shares with the little feline delights him.

“Vantas?”

Your voice shakes him from his reverie, and he grips the fabric of his pants while bringing his attention to you.

“What.” He scrunches his nose and furrows his brow.

“Nothing.” You smirk.

He bites his bottom lip and avoids eye contact. 

Well, you know where you are stopping by later.

‒

“Jesus fuck, why the hell did we buy so much shit? Why did _you_ buy so much shit. You knew the people carrying the bags were the two of us. This was a trip to temporarily restock until we could hit our normal place. Yet you still went as haywire as a cow who hasn’t seen green grass in fucking weeks.”

You drop the five grocery bags you lugged two miles onto the floor with a heavy thud.

Karkat glares at you. “Don’t _drop_ them,” he snarls, as he places his four bags on kitchen table.

“Whatever. I’m leaving.”

“Wait, what? No, help me put this shit away.”

“I’ve got a gig tonight, remember?”

“Yeah, in two hours. Get your ass back here.”

“Strider is out of the house,” you hum with a rich tilde in your voice, and toss a back-handed wave to him as you strut out the door.

You hear him grumble ‘douchebag coolkid’ among other insults as you descend the stairs.

‒

The door jingles as you stride into the pet store. Why did these places always have bells on their doors? The simple sound-making device does nothing productive, unless annoying employees into being moody bitches and deterring customers from coming back counts as useful.

You walk by the pen near the window and count three kittens, two of which you had not noticed earlier. One of them rolls onto the other in its sleep. The third, the charcoal creature that unnerves you with familiarity, saunters toward you and settles on its hind legs.

A distinct, bright color resides in its irises, riddled with innocence.

It trails your movements with its gaze.

And, you called it, the woman working the register frowns when you walk up to her.

“Can I help you?” she spits. She sounds ecstatic to see a customer, with her indignant tone and bluntness.

“Yeah, I got a question about the cats.” You ignore her attitude and glance back at the kittens.

Sky-smeared orbs still have you under surveillance.

“Oh, them. They’re not the shops, we don’t sell pets.”

That cleared up nothing. You turn back and get her a scrutinizing stare behind your shades.

She might have sensed it, because she sighs and continues talking without you having to question.

“We sponsor the city’s animal shelter. It’s not too far from here, but it’s out of bustle of the inner city. It doesn’t get much attention. We take a few of their animals and put them on display here to raise the chances of adoption. If you want one of them you gotta take that up with the shelter. Do you want directions?”

You pull your phone out of your pocket to check the time. An hour and a half until the club needs its DJ, but you are not in the mood for chancing.

“Could you write them down? I’ll check it out tomorrow.”

“Sure. Actually, I think these kittens are going back to the shelter tomorrow morning. We get new animals every week.” She shrugs and shuffles around for a pen.

She scribbles a few lines on a scrap piece of paper and hands it to you.

“Thanks.” You nod to her.

As you place a hand on the door, the little cat tilts its head to the side and flicks one ear.

_Why is it so familiar?_


	2. Coffee, Lattes, Ice Cream, and More Bells

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This wasn't even supposed to be a chapter, but developed into a short fill chapter. Sorry. *publishes and runs to hide*

A hazy glow flickers through the window blinds. You blink for several moments at your ceiling, adjusting your eyesight. The air is thick; musty with old furniture and laced with streams of sunlight. Amid the antediluvian yet homely scent is the edge of that dark brewed beverage he loves so much.

You figure everything is as it should be, even if that never includes the tickle of numbness from dead weight on your upper arm in the morning.

_Ugh, what time is it?_

Scrunching up your nose, you slip the sheets off and toss on your shades, followed by jeans and a t-shirt.

Karkat is- as always- awake before you and making coffee.

He has major sleeping issues.

“How’d the show go last night?” He watches you from the kitchen table; his eyes weighed by more luggage than usual.

“Oh, y’know. Same shit. Laying out sick beats and the chicks can’t get enough.” You walk over and set a hand on the table. “What time did you wake up? You were sleeping when I got home, but dude, your raccoon image is looking damn accurate.” You angle yourself to peer into his face.

“Some ungodly hour, I don’t know, nor do I care. Just…” he pauses, narrowing his eyes, “Get out of my face.”

You raise your hands in mock surrender. “Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed. Well, doesn’t matter, I’m checking out. Got shit to do today.”

“Right, whatever, just get out already then.” Karkat groans and stands to pour another cup of coffee.

You snag your jacket off the coat rack and head out the door.

‒

After a time check, you decide: _way too early_.

Whatever transpired concerning the weather yesterday, the sun despises the occurrence, and is trying to apologize for its mistake. Thank god for your shades, wild abandon from a flaring solar sphere is distressing.

You pull the note out of your jacket pocket. The woman said the kittens are going back in the morning, so you will hold off until noon to visit.

_Several hours_ to waste…

Karkat’s mood is dreadful, so returning home for coffee is not the best idea. But consumption of caffeine is a necessity at the moment.

With one fluid movement you tug your phone out of your pocket and call your best friend.

“Dave!”

“’Sup bro? You work at that coffee shop near my apartment complex, right? Are you working today?”

He giggles into the phone. “Yeah, I do work at the café. My shift starts in half an hour, I’m getting ready now. Why?”

“I’m stopping by to chill. I’ve got time in my wallet and nothing to spend it on.”

“Not hanging with Karkat today?”

“He’s moody.”

“Didn’t get much sleep?”

“When does he.”

“Hehe, that’s true. I’ll see you soon then!”

“Later Egbert.”

He hangs up the phone.

You walk through the city streets; six blocks and two turns later, you are at the café.

John has not arrived, so you buy an apple latte and relax by the window.

People pass by- an elderly man with a noticeable under bite and a hobbled gait, a mother who stops to scold an obstinate child, a couple arm-in-arm with cameras slung around their necks.

You sonder.

One man walking a Siberian Husky steers your thoughts into animals. None of your friends have pets besides Jade, but that mutt she owns does not count much as an animal. Oh, Rose had a cat when she was young. She might not have relative advice on the topic now. Even if she did, her speech is cryptic in regards to favors. She can make asking for pet guidance into an analytic reflection of your moral values.

The trolls managed their lusii, if that deems near useful. So for animal advice, you assume directing questions to the trolls would be wisest.

Someone taps you on the shoulder. A familiar face; a toothy grin and a complexion sparsely spattered with freckles, blue eyes framed by square lenses.

“Hey Dave!”

You sip your latte. “Hey.”

“Is that a latte? Dude, lame. It’s not even coffee, it’s half milk!”

“It’s ironic. And the only apple thing you have on the goddamn menu.”

“We have apple juice in the fridge.” He points to the customer-accessible refrigerator.

“I needed caffeine.”

He giggles again. “Okay, as much as I’d love to continue chatting, I’ve got a job to do! I’m working the register, so if you need anything just come on over.”

“’Kay.” You nod, and watch him walk away.

_Still an hour_.

You text Karkat.

TG: feeling any better?  
CG: FUCK NO. MY HEAD HURTS.  
CG: AND WHY IS IT SO BRIGHT OUT TODAY.  
TG: how do you know its bright outside?  
CG: I OPENED THE BLINDS YOU SHITHEAD.  
CG: JUST BECAUSE TROLLS AREN’T ACCUSTOMED TO SUNLIGHT DOESN’T MEAN WE POSSESS AN INTENSE ABHORRENCE TO RADIANCE. YOUR SUN IS MUCH MEEKER THAN OURS. ON ALTERNIA, EXPOSURE TO SUNLIGHT WAS INSANELY ILL-ADVISED.  
CG: FOR FUCK’S SAKE WE WENT TO THE STORE YESTERDAY DURING THE DAYLIGHT.  
TG: calm down bro  
TG: i know  
CG: WELL, RIGHT *NOW* I HAVE A VEHEMENT ANTIPATHY TOWARDS LIGHT. MY HEAD IS HAMMERING WITH AN UPROAR A STAMPEDE COMPRIMISED OF A THOUSAND HOOFBEASTS COULD NOT RIVAL AND I AM DRIVEN TOWARD AN ACUTE DESIRE TO GOUGE MY EYES OUT AT EVEN THE EXIGUOUS INSINUATION OF ALL THINGS NOT SWATHED BY DARKNESS.  
TG: im guessing you have every light source in the apartment blocked  
CG: YES.  
CG: I’M ALSO HUDDLED UNDER A BLANKET BECAUSE THE TENEBROSITY IS THE ONLY COMFORT AT THE MOMENT.  
TG: why are you on your phone  
TG: isnt the screen bright?  
CG: I HAVE THE BRIGHTNESS AT THE LOWEST SETTING POSSIBLE AND I’M NOT LOOKING AT IT DIRECTLY.  
CG: AND YOU MESSAGED ME.  
TG: right  
TG: do you want me to get you anything while im out?  
CG: TARO ICE CREAM.  
TG: the gray shit? dude idk where the fuck to find that  
CG: IT WAS A JOKE. GET ME VANILLA.  
TG: alright  
TG: i wont be home for a few hours though  
CG: AS LONG AS YOU RETURN WITH MY DAIRY PRODUCT-PRODUCED FROZEN DESSERT. AND IT BETTER BE THE GOOD STUFF.  
TG: yes your highness

He does not respond to your quip. Guess he is in no mood for sass.

You suppose you can head to the shelter now.

After waving goodbye to John, you leave the café.

‒

Again with the fucking bells? You wonder how it doesn’t trigger the animals.

The lobby of the shelter is spacious, and to the right of the front desk are shelves lined with an array of animal collars, leashes, clickers, treats, and toys.

Different species of animals are sorted into separate areas; small mammals, birds and reptiles in rooms to the left of the desk, while the dog kennels are in a larger room past the shelves.

The rooms containing felines- in and out of cages- are directly to your right upon entering the building.

A few scrutinizing, scathing gazes survey your movements as you enter the room, along with several friendly, curious eyes.

In the first room, the cats are in cages along two adjacent walls. Transparent glass doors on the other walls lead to two minor rooms where the cats have free roam.

Aside from the eyes watching you, the majority of other felines either sleep, or laze while awake and ignore your occurrence.

The only other person present is an employee- judging by the uniform- who is indulging in frolic with a cat beyond the glass door.

Messy black hair and horns… the employee is a troll.

_One of Karkat’s friends works at this animal shelter?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Wtf is sonder?](http://www.dictionaryofobscuresorrows.com/post/23536922667/sonder)


	3. Cat Girls and Headaches

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh look, fluffly cuddles and _jealousy?_

You hear her laughing as you open the door, and watch as she bounces away from the cat she is playing with. She drops to the floor on her hands and knees while arching her back.

The cat lowers its chest to the floor and raises its hind end, mimicking her.

She sticks out a finger and the cat swats at it, but she reacts fast enough to escape its claws.

“You know you’ll never catch me.” Her voice reminds you of honey; fluid and sweet but not sickeningly sugary.

You clear you throat.

Her uncanny resemblance to a feline causes you to think that if she had ears, they would have twitched just now, because you catch her attention.

“Oh! Dave? Oh, it is Dave!” She springs to her feet and scurries over to you.

“Yo.” You hide your confusion to her eagerness to receive you and the fact she knows your name through your cool façade.

“We haven’t met, have we? I don’t talk to Karkitty much, but when I do, he talks about you a lot!” Her grin is akin to content cats, but with more spunk.

_Karkitty? Oh…_

“You must be the cat girl Karkat told me about…”

“Nepeta. Nepeta Leijon.” The smile gracing her face splits to reveal her edged teeth.

“Right, Leijon.”

“What’re you doing here? Are you thinking of adopting a furrend?” You notice a slight accent of sorts; she rolls her r’s.

“I’m looking for a specific cat.”

“Well, I can help! Who’re you looking fur?”

“There were three kittens at a pet store by my apartment and the employee said they were coming back here this morning.”

“Oh! I know who you’re talking about.” Nepeta steps over to the cat she was teasing to pat it on the head, as a goodbye you guess, and returns to you. “Follow me!” She prances out the door.

You follow her to the other ‘leisure room’ for the felines.

“They’re in here.” She glances around the room. “Ginny is there.” She points to a tan tabby sleeping in a cat bed on a shelf built into the wall. “Liam is…” She crouches and shuffles under a table. “Here.” You stoop to see another kitten you recognize from yesterday; this one bi-colored white and orange. “And… hm.”

“The black one?”

“Yeah… wait, I know where he is.” She gestures to a raised catwalk above your heads, fringing the window. “He’s a tree dweller and likes sunbaths.”

_So it’s male._

“He’s up there? How do we get him down?”

“Good question. He doesn’t know his name, so calling him won’t do.”

“What’s his name?”

“Cookie.”

_Oh jesus you’re renaming him._

“Do you think treats will work?” You offer the suggestion.

“Good idea! I’ll be right back.” Nepeta parades out the room.

Her enthusiasm is contagious, because despite your perpetually stoic expression, you find yourself smirking.

You sit in a wooden chair.

Liam pokes out from under the table and saunters over to lay by your converses.

Animals were cool, and that was not something you found stupid to admit.

Nepeta returns. She rattles a bag of treats, which causes ears to swivel and heads to jerk.

Various felines brush her legs and she giggles as she bequeaths treats.

You keep your eyes fixed on the brink of the platform. A small, whiskered face peers over the edge.

“Oh, there he is!” Nepeta claps her hands together.

The cat retreats out of your sight, and you frown.

He reappears on the opposite side of the catwalk, descends the cat-stairwell, and seats himself among the other cats by Nepeta’s feet.

“This was the one I was looking for,” you state as Nepeta awards the kitten with treats. “How much would it be to adopt the munchkin?”

“Cookie? Let’s see… he’s less than seven months, he’s neutered, microchipped, vaccinated, tested for FIV and FeLV…” You watch as she tips her head to the side and counts on her fingers. “Around one-hundred sixty dollars?”

“Holy-…” You trail off and glance at the feline by her feet.

The last bit of extra dough you had went toward the groceries yesterday. Your DJ job at the club leaves you with enough to pay half the bills (Karkat pays the rest) and a little pocket change. If you are taking this rascal home, you need to pick up more hours at the club, and it will have to wait until your next payday… _this weekend_.

“Leijon, I don’t have the cash now, but I plan on taking this guy home.” You point at the onyx ball of fur. “Can I put him on reserve or something? So other fuckers can’t snag him?”

Nepeta sulks. “I’m sorry, but the shelter doesn’t allow that. The policy is ‘adopt and take home’. No waiting purriods allowed.”

“Damn.” You scoff.

You crouch and narrow your eyes at the kitten. He repays the gesture by adjusting himself to face you and locking eye-contact. His ears are upright in alertness. As he blinks his azure orbs, you swear his eyebrow-whiskers rise like he is questioning you.

_That’s what it is._

Seeing them both in the same day causes the epiphany.

You finally identify the unsettling vibe seeping off the animal and into your head; the impression of dubious recognition. The vexatious emotion he drops in your gut at every action.

_He reminds you of John._

Why did you not see it sooner? The blue eyes, black fur, and the fact it is a **cat** , which means its nature is designed with mock innocence, inquisitiveness, mischievousness, and assholeism. The one thing missing is the idiocy, because last time you checked cats were rather intelligent.

You wonder if Karkat saw the resemblance. Probably not.

After a sigh, you straighten your legs and address Nepeta. “Karkat has me doing errands again so I should get going.”

“What about Cookie?”

“I don’t get my check until Saturday, but if he’s still here by then I’ll adopt him.”

“Sorry I couldn’t do anything to help.” Her shoulders sag.

“Nah it’s cool. You helped me find him.” You shrug and toss your hand out in a half-assed wave. “Later.”

“Okay bye!” She tips onto her toes and bends her fist beside her face to represent a paw while waving goodbye with the other.

‒

You visit a convenience store and buy a single-serving container of Häagen Dazs on the way home.

‒

The door clicks as you shut it behind you. You slip your shoes and jacket off and try to sneak through the apartment. The action is difficult while carrying a plastic bag. If Karkat is not sleeping, he still has a headache, so you do not wish to disturb him more than necessary.

You step into the kitchen, but pause when you notice a bundle of comforter on the sofa. You approach the couch. “Hey.”

No response.

“Karkat?” You nudge the quilt.

It grumbles and shifts.

You scowl and tug at the bottom end of the comforter until his feet protrude, and then withdraw the carton of ice cream from the bag. You press the cold container against the flat of his foot.

He yelps, thrashes for a moment, and flips the blanket off his head to glare at you. “What the ever-loving fuck.”

“I got your ice cream.” You sneer at him.

He growls and snatches the container from you. When he stands, he drapes the blanket over his shoulders, and enters the kitchen.

You follow him in the same direction but sit at the bar counter between the lounge and kitchen.

He rummages through several cupboards and the refrigerator. Sprinkles, chocolate chips, chopped nuts, two flavors of syrup, whipped cream, cookie crumbs, maraschino cherries- you didn’t even know you had all this shit. No wonder the groceries were so damn expensive.

“Are you PMSing or something? Your cravings are insane. You’re going to get diabetes faster than that fat kid Willy Wonka hated.”

“I’m not PMSing, whatever that is. A sugar rush might help with this migraine.” He scoops the ice cream into a bowl and arranges his toppings in a way that makes the dish look both delicious and fatal.

You hum and walk back to the sofa to relax; his turn to follow you.

He curls against the arm of the sofa and nestles further into the quilt as he prods his sugar-overdosage with his spoon.

“Seriously? What are you doing. Get over here.” Your timbre is firm but not demanding; it was your way of asking. You were giving him the option.

His brow knits as he stares at you.

Your stomach coils. You hate the moments you have difficulty reading him. _What is he thinking?_ Your spout of insecurity is boosted when you remember the kitten he fell in love with- the one you are planning as a gift- resembles John, and that thought is still eating away at your mind and leaving a rough tingle under your ribcage.

He sighs and shuffles next to you.

_Oh. No worries._

You wrap an arm around his waist and pull him closer while staying careful not to upset his bowl of cardiac arrest.

There is a quiet rumble in his throat and you cannot tell if it is a growl of protest or a hum of acquiescence. Regardless, he nuzzles against your neck as he spoons ice cream into his mouth.

“Can I have some?”

His expression is a perfect picture of skepticism. Seconds of silence tick by before he responds. “No.”

“What? C’mon dude. I _bought_ it for you.”

“And that makes me indebted to the point I have to allot my dessert?”

“It should.”

“You’re lucky I’m even allowing you to cuddle with this awful pounding in my head.” He carves into the ice cream again, this bite a deliberate choice of whipped cream, syrup, cookie crumbs and- obviously- the vanilla ice cream.

Before the spoon passes his lips you seize his wrist and shepherd the morsel into your mouth.

His lips remain open in disbelief before his face contorts in slight anger and extreme disapproval.

You chuckle and peck him on the cheek. Tightening your grip around his waist, you burrow your face into his neck.

He groans and continues to eat his ice cream.

After he finishes, he prods your side in an attempt have you loosen your clutches on him.

You comply, and he leans forward to set the empty bowl on the table.

He then turns to you with a semi-serious countenance. “What’s wrong with you today? You’re clingier than normal.”

Your gaze flickers between both of his eyes; searching in them for answers to questions you have not- and _will_ not- ask. You are glad for your shades.

“Well?”

“I’m picking up more hours at the club. I won’t be home until early morning for the next few nights.”

“Oh. So you’re taking the opportunity for displaying affection while you can.”

“Kinda, yeah.”

He presses his fingers to the bridge of his nose. “I still have a headache…”

“I know. Do you want to go lay in bed?”

“That’s a good idea.” He grabs his bowl and trudges to the kitchen to place it in the sink. He halts at the beginning of the hallway to look back at you. “What are you doing?”

“What?” You raise an eyebrow at him.

“Aren’t you coming?”

You blink in surprise. “I thought you’d want to be left alone.”

“I don’t want to _do_ anything…” He glowers at you. “Just get your ass over here.”

You follow him into your bedroom.

He crawls onto the bed and sits, waiting for you to lie.

After you do, he tosses the quilt he has been bound to for who knows how long over the both of you, and rests his head on your arm.

 _This_ is the feeling you crave in the mornings.

You press a kiss to his forehead and knead your fingers through his disheveled- albeit soft- hair.

“Sweet dreams,” you whisper.

He hums in appreciation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow I'm sorry if you notice my quirk for semi-colons. I'm getting out of the habit of using them so often. It just happens sometimes.


	4. Worries and Heated Moments

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter's a little late! It's slightly short, too.  
> The plot will be progressing soon I PROMISE.  
> 

Your headache has yet to renounce its reign, though the majority of the pain has subsided. At least the sun was no longer awake; your eyesight’s intensified sensitivity would drive you mad.

A sliver of hollow misery twinges through your chest when you throw the quilt off of you. The space beside you is bare.

Right, he did say he was working.

It’s that late already?

You slept the afternoon away, and luckily the most of headache with it.

To be honest- although you enjoy your alone time- when Dave is not home you are at a loss. He requires your undivided attention at all times. To be technical, he demands it. Often as him not being home is, you are unsettled without his presence.

What was wrong with Dave? His behavior was unusual; regardless of his skill at hiding his emotions. He seemed… upset? Something was bothering him, you could comprehend that much.

As for you, unsettled is an understatement at this moment.

To distract yourself from you thoughts, you seek alternative forms of entertainment to dump your concentration. A romcom in the dark might entice the headache. However, a book should do no harm.

You scour through the closet- you two really did have _so much shit-_ to find reading material. You pry a book free from the suffocation it suffered under the heap, and discover a piece of fabric between the pages.

Dave’s red plaid scarf.

You grimace. God, you hate this color.

After a moment, your face of disgust eases into a small frown.

_But it’s his._

You wrap the piece of fabric snuggly around your neck. You nuzzle your face into the cloth and take a deep breath, inhaling the scent.

_His scent._

You return to the bed with the book, burrow into the sheets, and flick on the bedside lamp. The book whines as you flip it open, its spine reluctant and stubborn even after its many years in your possession.

You spend several minutes _attempting_ to read, but the aroma enveloping you is distracting. The tangy spice tickles your nose, trails a shiver down your spine, throws your head reeling, and abandons you to barter between a sense of comfort and a sting of loneliness.

Past Karkat is a fool for wearing this thing… although you cannot bring yourself to remove the article.

You slam the book shut and drop it onto the floor.

You snatch your cell phone off the nightstand.

CG: HEY.  
CG: CAN YOU ANSWER YOUR PHONE?  
CG: NO?  
CG: THAT’S A NO.  


Dave is not answering his texts.

You scroll through your contacts.

CG: JOHN.  
EB: oh hey karkat!  
CG: DID YOU SEE DAVE TODAY?  
EB: actually yeah!  
EB: he stopped by the cafe this morning.  
CG: I FIGURED.  
CG: DID ANYTHING SEEM WRONG WITH HIM?  
EB: what do you mean?  
CG: WAS HE UPSET? OR IN A BAD MOOD?  
EB: hehehe.  
EB: i thought irony was dave’s thing!  
EB: did some of it rub off on you?  
CG: WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT.  
EB: dave told me that the reason he wasn’t hanging out with you today was because YOU were in a bad mood!  
CG: RIGHT. I HAD A RIDICULOUSLY HORRID HEADACHE TODAY.  
CG: BUT YOU DIDN’T ANSWER MY QUESTION.  
EB: nothing seemed wrong with him?  
EB: at least i didn’t notice anything.  
CG: OH.  
EB: why are you asking me about it?  
EB: can’t you just talk to him?  
CG: HE’S WORKING.  
EB: oh right.  
CG: WELL THAT’S ALL I HAD TO SAY.  
CG: I’LL TALK TO YOU LATER.  
EB: wait!  
EB: now that i think about it, he was spacing out when i got to the cafe.  
EB: does that count?  
CG: SPACING OUT? HE WAS LOST IN THOUGHT?  
EB: yeah he was just watching the people pass by!  
CG: HM.  
CG: ALL RIGHT. THANKS FOR THE INFORMATION.  
EB: okay bye karkat!  
CG: BYE.  


Lost in thought?

It takes quite a bit to leave Dave visibly “spacing out” enough for _John_ to notice.

You decide to stay awake until he returns home. Not that you could sleep well to begin with; you have sleeping issues and you took a nap.

You rummage through the closet again for a romcom.

‒

You hear a soft click in the distance, and blink wearily while rubbing an eye.

A pale glow casts shadows across the room. The movie has returned to the selection screen.

You fell asleep? During one of your romcoms? Wow, _that’s_ a first.

A few light taps follow the click.

“You’re still awake?”

Oh, Dave is home.

“I told I’d be home late. You should have gone to sleep.”

“I slept all fucking afternoon, you think I could sleep?”

“You look like you _were_ sleeping.”

You glance at the clock to avoid eye contact. His shades piss you off; he can read you as much as he wants and you rarely get a glimpse at his expression.

A period of silence trickles past as he waits for a snarky reply from you.

He sighs when you do not retort. “I don’t even care. I’m tired.”

“… -as… -rried…” you mumble.

“What?” His neutral countenance slips into displeasure.

“It’s nothing.”

He walks over to the sofa and clutches your wrist. “No dude, what did you just say.”

“I SAID I WAS FUCKING WORRIED OKAY.”

He freezes, but his grip does not loosen.

“Will you let go?” You twist your wrist in his hand.

He regains his composure and grabs your other wrist. He shoves you onto your back, restrains your hands against the arm of the sofa and straddles your thighs.

You narrow your eyes at him.

He lifts his shades off his face and tucks them into his hair. With his vibrant red eyes- the eyes that suspend your world, the eyes that cause your hair to stand on end, the eyes you _drown_ in- he stares down at you, and a cunning smirk slides onto his lips.

He pins your wrists with one hand and ghosts his fingers along your neck.

He presses his chest against yours and whispers in your ear.

“This is mine.” He tugs at the red scarf around your neck.

_**Shit** \- you were still wearing that?_

“Yeah, so?” you croak out, not sounding as dignified as you would have liked.

“So…” He nips at your earlobe. “Why are you wearing it?” His voice is cleanly dipped in amusement; topped with a husky edge.

You squirm underneath of him. “Why does it matter?”

He hums, and you can feel the low vibration travelling within his throat and chest. He lays a quick kiss against the tip of your nose…

And lets you go.

A small, sincere smile on his face, he removes his body from your personal space and seats himself beside you.

You sit upright and present him with a frown. He is acting _really_ strange.

“What’s worrying you?”

You curl your upper lip and growl at him. “ _You._ ”

“Oh. Care to clarify?” He raises an eyebrow at you.

“I didn’t-… _don’t-_ think I have to.”

When he does not respond, you groan, and explain nonetheless.

“You’re acting weird. Stranger than normal. You think I haven’t noticed?”

“There’s nothing to notice, I’m fine.”

“Don’t bullshit me.”

“Karkles, I’m _fine_. Really. Just a little tired.” He knits his fingers through yours. “Come on, let’s go to bed.”

He is avoiding the topic.

You give him a pass this time. If he is still acting strange the rest of the week, you do not care _what_ you have to do, you are getting answers.

He turns the TV off and leads you to the bedroom.

He sets his sunglasses on the bedside table.

As he strips down to his boxers, you adjust the scarf around your neck.

“You don’t have to wear that anymore, you have me.” He falls backwards onto the bed and pulls you onto him. “Besides, you hate red.”

“It’s comfortable.”

“I’m comfortable.”

“I’m not taking it off.”

“Okay, okay.” He rolls so you tumble off him and onto your side of the bed.

He shifts closer to you and wraps an arm around you waist, the other still holding your hand.

“Night.” He closes his eyes and places a chaste kiss on your lips.

You expect to fall asleep after him considering how much you have slept today.

“Good night.”

You tighten your grip on his hand and watch him fall asleep.


	5. Stairs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the hiatus, hit a writer's block.  
> *throws this chapter at you and runs*

You wake up with more worries than you would care to count.

Karkat is catching onto your behavior. It does not help he has a master’s degree in your psychology.

Your jealousy over a fucking _kitten_ that he has seen _once_ is unbelievable- and you understand that- but the monstrosity gnawing at your heart does not give a damn and it pisses you off.

Is it the kitten, or _John_?

It is a vicious circle of insecurity, depression, and aggravation.

Internally, you are a raging tsunami of stupid and pointless emotions.

Your façade shows little of the savage tides inside… yet Karkat’s specific profiling capabilities towards you pluck the small signs out of the water like a seagull to a handicapped crab.

Or a crow to a crab.

You are certain that metaphor is accurate but for an unknown reason it sounds _backwards_.

Anyway, you suppose seeing the tiny bastard will ease your anxiety. It will also help in avoiding Karkat so he cannot pry further.

Wait, what anxiety? Haha, Striders don’t get anxious.

You decide to visit the animal shelter again and abscond the apartment before he returns home from work.

‒

The bells jingle, signaling your entrance into the shelter.

Nepeta spots you through the glass of the cat’s rooms and beckons you with a wave.

“Back so soon?” she chirps.

You shrug in response. What reason do you have to share that you are here to avoid Karkat and wrestle down anxiety formed over baseless jealousy?

Dammit, _not_ anxiety.

“Cookie’s up there again.” She motions to the platform. “They ate treats a few minutes ago. I don’t think we should give them more…” Her brows droop in apology.

“It’s cool.”

The kitten peeks its head over the edge of the platform.

Nepeta giggles. “I think he likes your voice. Keep talking, maybe he’ll come down!”

You give her a skeptical glance, but talk to the cat regardless. “Hey little dude, come down here.”

The kitten tilts its head and adjusts its ears to listen to you.

“Come on man, I just wanna talk.”

The animal seems to understand and saunters across the platform to descend the stairs. He does not walk over to you and chooses to seat himself a wary distance away, but remains focused on you with intentional appraisal.

“Speaking of which,” you turn to Nepeta, “Does he talk?”

“Cookie is very talkative! He is part Siamese and one general characteristic of the breed is being vocal. I’m surprised he’s not talking to you… He talks to almost effurry purrson, especially if you converse with him.”

You crouch and hold a hand out to the feline. “Scent is identity to most animals, right?”

Nepeta nods in your peripheral vision.

“I’m offering you to sniff me kid. Find out who I am.” You edge your hand closer.

The cat does not care for your advances. He ignores your hand and continues to stare at your face.

You withdraw your hand and purse your lips into a line.

“That’s… purrplexing,” Nepeta remarks.

You tip your head in her direction and raise an eyebrow.

“He clearly likes your voice, but he’s not interested in meeting you? Or, well, it’s not quite that, but I can’t explain this behavior. I haven’t seen something like this before.”

“This is weird for a cat? I thought all cats were like snarky, selfish assholes or something.”

“Dave, that is not a very good outlook on cats.” She sighs. “Yes, this behavior is strange for cats. When you are interested in or curious about something you want to learn more, right?” She smiles. “Same situation is when you like someone and you want to be around them.”

You recognize a miniscule fragment of pain in her smile- healed with time, the remainders are a scar of loneliness and a dull sting whenever the cause of injury is remembered. 

Your recognition is born from the fact you can relate to the emotion.

“I can show you that he is a vocal cat if you want, because he talks to me all the time.”

You pause, and stand up straight. “Be my guest.” You shove your hands into your pockets.

She walks over to the feline and crouches next to him.

“Hello Cookie, how are you?” Her smile is bright and genuine.

The kitten looks up at her and meows; a simple, classic, near-perfect meow, save for the pitch drop and slight drawl ending.

“See?”

“Well what the hell. You say he does this with everyone?”

“Mostly. Even strangers. As I said, if you talk to him, he talks back.”

You give the cat a judgmental stare.

He stares back.

You sigh and turn to Nepeta.

“Leijon, are you working? You’re not in uniform.”

“Oh! No, I’m not working right now. I only stopped in to pick up something I forgot yesterday and since I was here I said hello to effurryone.”

“I wanted to talk to someone about pets because I know fuckall about them, and the trolls had their lusii things- and you’re good with cats- do you have plans?”

“I’m not busy! Equius had to do some repair work on Vriska’s arm so I’m alone for the day anyway.”

“Awesome. Is lunch good? I know this sweet café.”

“Lunch sounds good!” she chirps.

‒

“Ladies first.” You hold the door to the café open.

A short giggle escapes her lips as she walks through the door ahead of you.

You follow her to a table by the window and courteously pull her chair out.

“You’re a gentailman!” She could not restrain her smile; her signature troll fangs gleaming.

You are torn between cringing and laughing at how lame that pun is, but her grin compensates, so you do neither.

You sit opposite her and glance towards the register.

Oh, John _is_ working.

It appears you caught his eye when you walked in, because when you look his way he gives you a goofy wave and a wide grin. He holds up a finger.

“Is that John?”

“You know him?”

“No, but Karkat has talked about him!”

Your gut wrenches. _God this is stupid_. Your throat feels thick, so you swallow in a vain attempt to breathe more easily. You push your shades further up your face and respond with a meek “Oh.”

“Um, but, he talks about you more. Definitely.”

 _Wow_ , how broken is your façade? Even a person you have recently acquainted can sense your emotional turmoil? Where the fuck is the coolkid?

All we have here is a cracked shell of irony and fresh lacerations of distress, frustration, possessiveness, and unease- littered shards of truth with loser seeping from the wounds.

Your minor relapse into the endless disappointment with yourself is halted when you hear Nepeta mumble.

You offer her a questioning expression, and she parts her lips to repeat herself-

“Hey guys!” John interrupts.

He pulls out a chair, turns it around, and sits on it backwards.

“Dave, who’s your troll lady friend? What’cha talking about? And where’s Karkat?”

“Hello! I’m Nepeta, a friend of Karkat’s.”

“Karkat’s working, dude.”

“Oh right. So what are you talking about?”

Nepeta leans over the table. “Dave and I met at my workplace! See, he’s planning to get-…” she trails off.

You cutting your hand through the air before your throat to signal Nepeta _not to say anything_ from behind John is the cause.

“Planning to get? What?” He leans toward the table and closer to the both of you.

“Don’t worry about it bro. Hey, isn’t your shift still going? Quit slackin’.”

He pouts. “I came over to get your order, I’ll have you know.”

“Just get me a chicken sandwich. I eat here enough, you know what I like.”

“And for you, Nepeta?”

You hold back a snicker at his mix of work etiquette and camaraderie. He spoke with formality, yet nonchalance.

“I’ll take… strawberry shortcake! And tea, please.”

“Coming right up!” He grins and walks away.

As he is approaches the counter you yell at him. “Don’t forget my A.J.!”

You see his shoulders slouch in a sigh- and you assume a roll of the eyes to match- but he gives you a lazy thumbs up.

“Why didn’t you want John to know?” Nepeta shifts her chair nearer to the table so you are able to listen to her whispers without her having to arch.

“John has a big mouth; I don’t want Karkat to find out, y’know?”

“Oh, okay. Sorry!”

“Nah it’s cool. Anyway what were you going to say before Egderps so graciously interrupted?”

“Um, it doesn’t really matter. So, what would you like to know about cats?” Her smile is candid, but the way her cheeks do not fill out and the muscles around her jaw tense show whatever she said _does matter_ , at least to her.

However, you are cool, and do not inquire further. “Any tips and pointers on taking care of him would be cool.”

After a few minutes, John returns with your order, and you spend the remainder of the afternoon enjoying your meal and chatting about pets- with occasional ironic references, somewhat adorable cat puns, and interruptions from a dork who is supposed to be working. Both you and Nepeta watch your words whenever he visits.

‒

When you were younger and lived with your bro, he forced you to climb the stairs every day. He informed everyone in the building to watch for you and not let you on the elevator, even on your shittiest days.

At first you tried getting on the elevator, and complete strangers stopped you.

You were ‘not allowed’.

The senior citizens took pity on you several times when you were either in a nasty mood or feeling ill.

Your bro always found out, which resulted in harsh strifes (he never went easy when the reason was punishment), so at a point you cannot discriminate you stopped attempting to use the elevator altogether.

Once you and Karkat moved in together, he did the opposite and forced you to take the elevator with him because ‘hiking flight after flight is fucking inane and arduous when we have technological marvels called _elevators_ ’.

You now use the elevator on a regular basis, but you developed a habit that you cannot recall _when_ you acquired. You favor the stairs over the elevator whenever you were restless.

There are 247 steps and three more to reach your floor.

You always recount; you know the number never changes.

The 44th step has ‘ **JESSE WAS HERE** ’ scribbled across its entirety with… sharpie? Something permanent. You cannot tell but it has been a part of this building since you moved here.

The 71st step has once-white gum stuck in the corner of the tread.

The 153rd step is a different color than the others.

The handrail to the 17th flight of stairs broke so horribly they removed it.

… So she has lost someone too.

Perhaps not the same way as you, but the pain is all the same.

Bro solidifies a part of who you are; by her expression, you think whoever she lost left her with a formidable hole as well.

_Oh yeah, what was it she wanted to say?_

You remember she caught wind of your anxiety and made a comment, but you did not hear her.

Wait did you just call it anxiety? No, pretty sure you didn’t.

These things going on in your head involving your lover, your best friend and a future pet cannot be aggregated into that word.

Besides, the inside of your head is forever screwy. The reason you do not let anyone in: they would get lost.

Lalonde would have a field day in this labyrinth.

Karkat has opened your doors by his own accord, and several rooms of his and your own have similarities. He has also trusted you with pieces of himself, which you treasure.

You want to show your appreciation for him. All you do for him at present you have always done and it still is not enough.

That is the point of adopting the kitten.

Although the reward of his reaction should be well worth pushing through these shitty feelings you are having now…

247, 248, 249…


End file.
